Try to Remember
by TweekyOs
Summary: After being left alone by a majority of his friends, Stan Marsh tries to prove that Kenny, a boy in an orange parka with blonde hair, is real to anyone who's willing to listen. Has he truly lost his mind, or did the town of South Park beat him to it?
1. Prologue

_A/N: hey guys it's scarce here. jk it's me_ tweekyos _back with another fic. M.A.F.I.A is kinda just sitting around now because I didn't get around to posting that much about it :/ I'm also not interested in the story, but I wrote some chapters that I'll put up online if i ever gain interest again. anyway, my a/n's will be lowercase because it's a time where i don't have to bother that much. enough about me, though. this fic revolves around one of the edits that i created on my instagram dailysouthpark. i don't plan on making this fic very long too, maybe around 15-20 chapters if you all enjoy it! **one of my good friends** dani **(** fruiwi **on** instagram **) also makes astonishing art and will be making some art for this fic so please show them some love! but let's get to the good stuff. enjoy the prologue of "Try to Remember" :)**_

 **Prologue**

The wind at Stark's Pond on a Saturday night howled in my ears as my teeth chattered like bones clacking together. I hug myself closer in attempts to gain back the heat that's left my body, but it does little to solve my dilemma. I look up at the stars as if it had the answers to my problems and take a swig of the whiskey that I stole from my parent's cabinet.

This situation is nothing new for me. I usually travel to Stark's Pond with some sort of alcohol to sort my head. I recently got into an argument with my parents over my alcoholism and Kyle is away at some Jewish camp till tomorrow.

After I came to the conclusion that I didn't have Aspergers but rather depression, alcohol seemed to calm me down on nights like these. At school, they always had assemblies on why we shouldn't consume drugs and take alcohol because they'll end up ruining our life rather than improving it. Since everyone at the time was only ten years old, it made sense to believe everything that adults told us, older people being wiser or however that goes. But as I drank alcohol for the first time, the world changed before me, colorful and happy like it's always been. They had to be wrong, right? I thought so, at least.

As my mind began to get fuzzy and my movements became sluggish, I lost the sense of my depression and it was replaced with happiness. I pushed myself onto my feet and turned around to look at the frozen lake where people of all ages usually skate. I smiled, remembering when I used to skate with my girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger.

Wendy was known as one of the prettiest girls in our grade. She had potential, was an amazing debater, and overall was an exciting person to be around. Growing up served her justice, resulting in her having big boobs, not as big as Bebe's, and nice curves. Due to that, a majority of my grade were all waiting in line to get a taste of Wendy, which is why I am, or was, lucky to even be at her standards. She had her moments, hell we all do, but I appreciated her, still do actually.

My alcoholism got in the way of our relationship, and though she tried her hardest to help me there's nothing you can really do to save someone who's fallen as deep as I have. I can still remember the tears that left her blue eyes as she cut ties with me. I was drunk, no surprise there, and I tried to reason with her, telling her that I'd get help.

 _"C'monn Wends," I slurred throwing my hands up in the air with a shocked look on my face. "Ya know I'll change, promise ya!_ _It's gon' be okay Wends." I wrapped my arms around her, my hands sliding up and down her hips. "We're gon' live in a biig house together, you and me. It'll be fu-" I hiccuped before Wendy pushed me off harsher than she meant to, causing me to fall on the ground in a daze._

 _"No, Stan. We can't grow up together in a big house. This. This!" She gestured with her arms at me, "This is why we can't be together. Because you don't want help! Because you won't let me help you. Because you go into a relapse whenever you're so close to ending this. I'm tired, Stan, just tired."_

 _I looked up at her and cocked my head to the side like a confused puppy. "Well if you're tired, take a nap!" A goofy smile spread across my lips. I didn't realize the seriousness of the situation I guess._

 _Wendy chuckled a sad chuckle and her eyes averted to the ground. She sighed exasperatedly and looked back at me, "Yeah," she mumbled, turning away from me. "Yeah, I guess I'll go take a nap." She walked away and little did I know that she wasn't going to just take a nap, she was going to sleep away this entire situation. She was going to forget about me. She was really done with me._

The rest was a blur as I brought my mind back to the present, realizing tears were coming out my eyes from the memory. I blinked and rubbed my eyes furiously. _That breakup happened last year, no reason to cry over spilled milk_ , I reassured myself. _You're okay. You're only 17. You have all the time in the world to get help._

As my vision became clearer, I noticed that I wasn't alone anymore. Someone in an orange parka was standing next to me, facing away from me and looking at the pond as well. I glanced at him, sizing him up quickly to realize he was probably poor. He had blond tufts of hair sticking out of his hoodie, and all sorts of patches to cover up the holes of his dirty parka. His shoes were beat up and his toe was poking out from one of the many holes. His pants were some blue jeans that were ripped at his knees. Despite his appearance, I felt a sense of friendliness with this boy. But I just can't identify who he is. For some reason, I had a sense that his name starts with a K.. a K..

"Need time to clear your head again?" The figure asked in a deep yet soft tone, interrupting my thoughts. I nodded in response, taking another swig of whiskey.

"That's bad for you, you know." warned the blonde, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "You can die and what not." He lit the cigarette before taking a puff and exhaling.

I scoffed, "Well, well Mr. Hypocrite, can't cigs kill ya too?"

He chuckled, "Touche."

Silence filled the air after that, and it wasn't a comfortable one. I had a connection with this guy, something about him that I couldn't put my finger on. I had to fill this silence with something, anything.

I took a deep breath before asking, "Does it get any better? Living in this world, I mean." The blonde didn't respond, taking a drag of his cigarette and filling the air with smoke. I coughed and felt like a child asking him this question, inexperienced for some reason. I felt like he's been through way more than I have.

"Stan," he said throwing his cigarette on the ground, extinguishing it with his beat up boot. "All you can do is try your hardest, and as long as I'm here, we can conquer anything together."

Instead of being shocked that he even knew my name, I smiled. "Yeah." I looked at him and faced him. The words left my mouth before I could even stop them.

"I feel like I remember you from somewhere. Have we met before?"

I noticed his body froze for a second before he turned around to face me. He removed his hood revealing a mop of blonde hair that shone in the moonlight. Freckles dotted his face and there was a scar on his right cheek. His lips were chapped and plump and he smiled at me knowingly.

"Stay golden, right?"

I blinked, and what was left was a cigarette butt on the ground and the footprints of where he once stood. I looked around in a daze wondering where he went. _Who the hell was he? A magician?_

I stood there in the cold wondering what he meant by his statement. " _Stay golden?"_ From The Outsiders? I know that Kyle, Cartman and I were superheroes for Halloween, along with another boy who I don't remember. _"Stay golden."_ Like his hair? That boy's hair from Halloween was blonde. Stay golden, sta-

 ** _Kenny._**


	2. Chapter 1

_I walk through a cold, foggy forest, looking for an answer. A beam of light shines through, leading me to follow it in hopes of being found. A silhouette with a flashlight comes closer until I am able to distinguish its person. The flashlight drops to the floor as they hurry to clutch me into a warm embrace, all signs of cold forgotten. I sigh, happily._

 _ **Warm.**_

 **Chapter 1**

I'm not a morning person if you think about it. Though alcohol soothes all my stress and anxiety, it has some killer headaches as an aftermath. I groan and reach for one of many water bottles sprawled across my desk, and almost knock over a dust covered Broncos football lamp.I take a huge gulp, wincing at the taste of morning breath and trudge to the bathroom where the food from the night before greets me in the toilet bowl.

I take a huge gulp, wincing at the taste of morning breath and trudge to the bathroom where the food from the night before greets me in the toilet bowl. I wipe my lips before flushing the toilet in utter disgust. I should be used to it, but seeing my puke first thing in the morning hasn't grown custom to me yet.

After brushing my teeth and taking a shower to get the smell off from the night before, I throw myself onto my bed. Reaching for my phone, I tap on Messages and tap Kyle's name, which is the second chat after my family group chat. I never really talk there, though.

Even though lots of people became distant with me after my alcoholism went into the open, Kyle stuck with me through thick and thin. Being super best friends all these years, I guess it's a hard thing to let it go. Hell, Cartman has even been distant with me. He hangs out with Butters more nowadays, surprisingly.

Growing up was also in Kyle's favour. He has a mop of fire coloured curls that usually get very frizzy in the summer, but they fall almost perfectly amongst his face. Light freckles cover his face and his eyes are a fierce green, like emeralds. He's a pretty handsome guy if you think about it, many girls go after him but he never seems interested for some reason. I shake my head and tap on Kyle's chat.

 _StanBone: yo u home yet_

 _ky barf: Stan, I've been home since 12 this afternoon._

 _StanBone: o so u just got home 10 mins ago?_

 _ky barf: It's 3 o'clock._

I blink in shock for a moment before realising that I always wake up late on weekends. One time, I even slept 15 hours and woke up at 7 pm wondering if the world had ended. During these 15 hours, my mother thought I had died and was having an anxiety attack while my dad kept poking me, or so he says, saying over and over "Staaaaan. Come to the dark side." I guess you can call me a heavy sleeper.

 _StanBone: lol oops guess_ i _slept 2 late. o btw come over_ i _missed u babe ;)_

 _ky barf: Guess you're going through another hangover. Whatever, just have some clothes on I'll be over in 10._

I smile to myself and shut my phone off before resting my head on my white pillow. I always call Kyle names whenever I'm recovering from a hangover, it's just been our thing. Really the names can vary from babe to mother fucker depending on how I'm feeling. I heave myself up and pick up a shirt from off the carpet floor. I smell it and wince slightly before putting it on. _Eh, it's just Kyle,_ I think to myself before going down the stairs for breakfast.

I'm greeted by my father reading the newspaper with the headline "Is your fish running for president?" I roll my eyes before going to the fridge and grabbing some milk. I pour myself a bowl of lucky charms and sit across my father who looks up from his daily news.

"Stan, have you been drinking again." He announces it as if it's a statement, and he isn't wrong since this is how my weekends usually end up nowadays. I shrug and shove a spoonful of sugary goodness into my mouth before saying in between chews. "Dunno, do _you_ think I've been drinking again?" I counter, narrowing my eyes slightly.

He shrugs and ignores my question. "You don't want to turn out like I did Stan, trust me." He glances over to stare at me with a serious, concerned look on his face. I hate that look adults give me when they scold me on my drinking habits. If I could describe this look, it's basically the look you give a poor, sick person. Someone who's weak, lonely, and unable to take care of themselves. I'm able to care for myself. I just don't want to.

I push my chair away from the table and pick up my bowl. I avert my eyes to the ground before mumbling, "Kyle's coming over." I proceed up the stairs to hear my dad whistle and holler, "You can't run away from your problems son." I slam my door as a reply.

Minutes later, the sound of feet pounding up the stairs and my door busting open reveals a pale-faced, freckle covered Kyle in a green cows sweatshirt, dark blue jeans, and black converse. He walks over and sits on my bed where I'm laying with a pillow on my head. I groan a hello and Kyle throws an Asprin my way.

"This'll help," he said, pulling out his phone. "What'd I tell you about drinking, though, Stan?"

I push myself up onto my elbows to give him a look before flopping down again. I roll over to stare at my purple walls before muttering, as if to myself, "I saw him again."

I hear Kyle reposition himself on the bed but he doesn't respond. I continue.

"I was at Stark's again and I saw him. We talked and he said 'Stay golden' before he disappeared." I turned to look at Kyle who was looking at a spot in my room with his eyebrows furrowed. "It's like he was a magician! Maybe I'll see him again an-"

"Stan, have you thought of seeing someone?"

I stop mid-sentence to completely face Kyle. He's looking at me with the same look my dad was giving me earlier. _No,_ I thought, _not Kyle too._

"What do you mean?" I countered, scooting closer. I knew exactly where Kyle was getting at, I was just hoping he didn't mean what I thought he meant. Oh God, please don't let him mean it that way.

"Well," he started, looking for the right words. "I don't know, just.. a therapist Stan. A doctor, even. I mean come on," He gestured with his hands in exasperation at me, like Wendy did when she broke up with me. A shiver shuddered through my body at the memory. "You're always talking about some guy that nobody in this town remembers! And this town knows who everybody is for Pete's sake." He shook his head. "Everyone's getting sick of it, _I'm_ getting sick of it." He sighed, closing his eyes before opening them to look me straight into my eyes, but with concern this time. "You need to let it go."

 _Let it go._ That sentence rang in my mind. _Let it go? Let go of someone who once existed, who we had 10 years of memories with? Let go an actual human being? How can you possibly let that go?_

My palms started to sweat and I could feel my vision start to blur. _No, I wasn't going to cry in front of Kyle over this._ I looked down at my dirty socks before sputtering, "You can leave, now."

"What?" Kyle asked in disbelief, hurt flashing in his eyes. "Come on dude, I'm trying to help you. I care about you, Stan." His voice started to shake. Kyle is a passionate guy after all, especially about topics such as these. "I just want what's best for you."

"If you care about me, you will leave and I'll talk to you at school tomorrow, okay?" I bit the inside of my mouth so hard I could taste blood. Crying is a sign of weakness, I won't cry.

Kyle nodded slowly and got up from the bed quickly. It creaked from his weight being lifted off so suddenly, and he patted my shoulder as if to reassure me that everything is okay. It isn't.

"I love you, dude, okay? I'll just.. I'll see you tomorrow." He gave me a long look and left my room, shutting the door behind him softly. I heard the sound of his converse descending down the stairs until the noise slowly stopped altogether. I heard him say goodbye to my father and the front door close. I stopped biting the inside of my mouth.

At that moment, the tears flowed and ran down my face in such a frenzy that wiping my eyes did little to no use. I put my face on the pillow to hide my heart-wrenching sobs from being heard from the outside world.

 _Kenny was real,_ I mused, _I know I'm not insane, or sick. I can't be insane. What occurred last night felt real because it was. Kenny would believe me because he always did. No matter what happened or what the situation was, he always believed me. He always cared. He always-_

Crying is a sign of weakness, but I still cried.

 _ **A/N; wow I haven't updated in forever and lost inspiration for my two stories but I'll try and continue this one + I have a fic I'm ACTUALLY INTERESTED IN that will be coming soon I'm such an inconsistent writer :/**_


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